


Variations on a Theme

by littlefirebird



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Gen, Terrible things, What is a timeline?, a miserable pile of wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey things, allagan relic is old as balls, but enough tags HAVE AT THEE, i lied there's always more tags, no beta we die like men, post-5.3 (minor spoilers), remembers lots of things
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 22:08:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21596323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlefirebird/pseuds/littlefirebird
Summary: Thoughts and recollections from a relic of Allag now called upon to act as a Warrior of Light.(A collection of short stories and one-offs that don't warrant their own posts.  Rating will eventually change.)
Relationships: TBD - Relationship
Comments: 6
Kudos: 16





	1. The Battle of Carteneau

She wasn’t at Carteneau when the red moon fell.

What could she have done even if she was?

When she’d seen the red glint become something more, something  _ larger _ , she’d resolved to stay as far away as possible.

That was before she felt the wisps of that... _ familiar _ aether. Heard the faintest echoing whispers, distortions of a Song she’d once heard. Whose master she had helped fell. Whatever feigned  _ dread _ she offered to others as she retreated became ever more  _ real _ as she returned.

_ They needed to know! There was terror and destruction in that moon, and whoever was calling it down needed to be stopped! _

She wasn’t at Carteneau when the red moon fell.

She was malms and malms away yet, begging at whatever scrap of aether remained in her circuits to will her transformation.  _ He needed to be stopped again. It took a veritable  _ **_army_ ** _ of Allag’s finest creations to stop the original the first time. The peoples of this age had nothing of the sort. _

_ 'Hydaelyn, cruel Mother, you would call on me, give me purpose again, but not for this? You would not give me the succor I need to fight? _ _ You need me, but not to put down the Wyrm that would lay so many others low? What for?!' _

...

She wasn’t at Carteneau when the red moon fell.

When the Dreadwyrm’s Song echoed out with his roar, it was distorted with the rage of five thousand years, with the pain of his children, with the screams and wails of those left upon the floating isles of Azys Lla.

One more joined in, a false imitation but pained in its own right. A howl of anger and grief, of helplessness, of knowing what would come next.

But now?

There was little and less she could do.

_ That _ was punishment enough.


	2. Relic Lite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kyrene Lightfoot: A giant of a Roegadyn, relic of Allag, Warrior of Light...now naught but a lovingly called ‘feathered pestilence’.
> 
> Featuring [WhyDontWeBegin's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhyDontWeBegin/pseuds/WhyDontWeBegin) Warrior of Light Primrose Dusk.

It was becoming a ritual.

Every night, at the seventh evening bell, there came the tell-tale tip-tap scratching of tiny talons against the stone flooring.

And every night, Y’shtola came searching.

Kyrene had been compliant...for the first week. It had been determined that it was in the Scions’ best interest to keep an eye on her since the last battle she’d been felled. A moon had come and gone and there was still no sign that the concoction the relic had been tranquilized with was wearing off. So one of their mighty, fearless, nigh-unstoppable Warriors of Light had been reduced to a strangely Ixalish chimeric hybrid the size of a large housecat.

Kyrene Lightfoot: A giant of a Roegadyn, relic of Allag, Warrior of Light...now naught but a lovingly called ‘feathered pestilence’.

“She’s not in yer room?”   
  
“Not in yours either. Nor hers.” 

Primrose watched bemusedly as Y’shtola turned over one of many strange burrows that Kyrene had created to hide in around the Rising Stones. Small piles of ‘stolen’ blankets and pillows were propped up in areas considered prime real estate: an armchair here, beneath a table there, tucked away in nooks and crannies, hidden under beds and desks.

Without fail, since that first week, Kyrene had taken to hiding in one such ‘nest’ near the time that someone came for her nightly examination. After the ease in which Y’shtola was able to distinguish the relic’s aetheric signature the first time, she had deemed it necessary to take drastic measures.

Not all at once, mind, but so methodical that both Y’shtola and Primrose couldn’t help but wonder where this sudden show of cleverness had come from. Within a few nights, Kyrene had somehow managed to replicate her aetheric signature enough in multiple ‘nests’ that even Y’shtola wasn’t able to suss out which was the correct hiding spot to begin with.

Since then, each night had become an unwilling game of hide and seek on the part of the healers, and each incorrect hiding spot was cleared of the emerald-tipped feathers that the relic had left behind. 

Tonight was no different.

“I’m fairly certain I heard her scrabbling about in here shortly before ye arrived. Didn’t catch sight of her though.”

“Well, that’s good enough to know, I suppose.” The sorceress gave a long-suffering sigh. “She has to know we’re doing this to keep her safe, so why—every godsdamned night—does she hide?”

Prim knew why, but it wasn’t her place to share what the relic had gone through at the hands of the Allagan scientists who created her.

Who exiled her.

“I imagine it’d be because she wasn’t able to hide on the First.” Prim said quietly, standing up from her desk to join in the search. “We were both...rather insistent on examining her then, and I suppose she didn’t have the energy to be cheeky about hiding. Neither of us did.”

Prim hummed as she gently untangled another ‘nest’. “Besides, we’re the giants for once— you, me, the rest of the Scions. Might be she feels a wee insecure because of it.”

Kyrene must have been close enough to hear, because there was a tiny, completely unthreatening squeaky growl in response from somewhere to her right. The same noise did not escape Y’shtola’s keen ears either. The Hellsguard was quick to place a gentle, restraining hand on the miqo’te’s shoulder as she came near, however.

“Here, take some pieces.” Prim offered a small, opened pouch filled with jerky towards Y’shtola.

“You mean to ply her with treats?”

“ _ We _ shall ply her with treats.”   
  
“Treats, treats.” A small echo of Prim’s voice sounded, muffled by a pile of blankets.

“I don’t see why you’re encouraging her behavior.”

“Mm. Don’t think of it as ‘encouragement’. It’s more like negotiating. We’ve been asking a lot of her to continue undergoing examinations day after day with very little in return. It’s become inevitable for her. Ye’d rebel in the same situation too, wouldn’t ye?”

Y’shtola’s tail flicked--once, twice--before she finally took two strips of jerky from the pouch Prim held out to her.

“I suppose I would.” Primrose’s smile widened even as the sorceress quietly scoffed. “ _ Bargaining _ with a patient. Of all the things…”

A curious beaked snout was already poking from the nest where the relic had chosen to hide. 

“Treats?” Prim’s voice echoed again.

“Aye. Treats.” The Roegadyn confirmed, placing one small piece of jerky in front of Kyrene’s chosen lair. “Shtola has brought some too!”

“Treeeeeaaaats??” Y’shtola’s voice echoed this time.

“Yes, treats.” Y’shtola couldn’t help the sigh regardless of the small, crooked smile on her face. “We will still have to look at you, though.”

Kyrene looked up at Prim mid-chew, and gave a sad whine.

“But ye’ll get more treats after, I promise.” 

“And. Brush?” A much deeper voice, some odd approximation of Urianger.

“Would ye like a brushing too?” She received a trill in response. “I think we can manage that as well, aye.”

Kyrene crawled cautiously out, looking expectantly at Y’shtola once her two pairs of wings had both been freed of the blanket’s weight. One claw reached delicately forward, talons scraping carefully on the stone as she scratched a deliberate, repetitive motion.

“I think she’d like some scritches from ye as well, Shtola.” Prim snickered. “She does so prefer them from ye.”

“If I must.” Y’shtola offered a piece of jerky as well, pleased enough that the relic was gentle in taking it from her hand. “I would  _ also _ prefer she use her own words to ask rather than mime actions.” 

**_‘You wouldst have the entirety of yon Stones, nay, mayhaps even the settlement beyond hear of thine wishes and accords?’_**

Primrose couldn’t help the cackle that sounded at the Archon’s ears flicking back in marked irritation. 

“I see…” Y’shtola’s words were clipped in contrast to how calmly she picked up an  _ intensely _ self-satisfied miniaturized dragon-bird. “You may have a Dravanian’s ability to speak-without-speaking, but you have neither the practice nor the capability to  _ target _ your words as such.”

“Cheeky!” Kyrene chirped, completely nonplussed by the Archon’s dangerous smile.

“Yes, quite cheeky indeed.” It wasn’t until the small relic was securely ensconced and purring in the crook of Y’shtola’s arm that she added in a tone that neither Kyrene nor Primrose could be sure was completely serious, “Perhaps cheeky relics are also deserving of a  _ bath _ tonight.”

“Oh no—”

_ Trapped, because not even an Allagan relic would dare destroy Y’shtola Rhul’s clothing. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank the enablers at the [Book Club!](https://discord.gg/Pw8SpTT)


	3. FFXIVWrite - Crux

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cross-posted from tumblr

“You are very lucky for the Lady Ratatoskr to take such an interest in you.” A young Elezen maiden dabbed carefully at the slowly scarring wounds. A ‘chirurgeon.’ A healer, summoned by the aforementioned Curious Wyrm.

******_[I am no such thing.]_ **The chimera murmured, doing her best to keep as still as possible. Scale and feather were still caked in blood despite the red Wyrm’s insistence on allowing her to help. 

It had been a scant few weeks since the Allagan creation had woken from stasis, had stumbled in blind confusion over the edge of Azys Lla, had fallen to the land below and been pierced upon one of the many mountain peaks of the place she now rested.

“You survived a devastating blow which ought to have killed you, yet you do not consider that luck?” 

**_[I am alone. That Ratatoskr pays such attention is no mark of_** **interest** ** _, it is of_** **pity.** ** _]_** A hind leg skittered across the dirt floor of the cavern that was tenuously ‘hers.’ The territory of a pretender amongst the pureblooded. Her roar muffled to a guttural groan of pain as salve was spread across still-raw skin. **_[I am a curiosity. I am unnatural. I am too small, too wounded to be more than a whelp in comparison.]  
  
_**

* * *

_Nidhogg had found her first, and she had only been able to weakly posture and hiss. Her feathers wouldn’t bristle, and she could barely stand._

**_  
[Thou art unknown, trespasser.]_ ** _He’d snarled._ **_[Thy stench cannot cover the blood of mine brethren though these many years have passed. I shall suffer no such abomination in these lands!]_**

_  
He’d been about to clamp his maw upon her neck, snap it in twain, cause an injury that she would have no hope of surviving—_

_  
Until Ratatoskr had descended.  
_

* * *

She was weak. Helpless. _Grounded_ , as her shorn wing so painfully reminded her. The crux of her survival had depended solely on the fact that she was cripplingly….utterly... _useless_. As harmless as a newly hatched dragonet whose eggtooth had yet to fall off.  
  
In short— 

Ratatoskr may as well have adopted her.

Her. The Iksalion. A formerly decorated bio-warmachina of the Allagan Empire, instrumental in felling her Brood-brother and sire of the Meracydian hordes.

It could only have _been_ pity. Nidhogg proved that an Elder Wyrm did not forgive, and did not forget. There was a third, but he had yet to make himself known to her. Disinterest, then.

But _kindness?_ Impossible.

**_[Auvrette? How doth thine patient fare?]_** Ah. Here was the Curious Wyrm now. **_[I have brought a meal from the forelands should she wish to eat.]_** The mouth of the cave was too small for Ratatoskr to fit properly in, but that did not stop her from attempting to catch sight of the Elezen and chimera within after gently nosing the corpse of a grown Loaghtan towards them.

“She will need much more treatment yet, I’m afraid. I will need to figure out a means to encourage new scale and feather growth so her wounds may heal properly. Perhaps the Moogles might be more familiar with such medicines?”

**_[Hmm. I shall have Gullinbursti inquire. He hath been working closely with man and moogle both—]_ **

**_[Wind crystals.]_ ** The chimera’s growl was quiet. **_[I shall not suffer moogles when aether may supplement me well enough.]_**

Ratatoskr only gave a pleased chuff, after which echoed the dull thump of her tail against the ground.

**_[I will consult with Gullinbursti still and see whence you might receive the crystals you request, little one.]_ **

The chimera only gave a snort, but the healer—Auvrette—noted the change in her charge’s body posture after Ratatoskr’s words. The strange dragon-bird clawed briefly at the dirt, before finally meeting the Elder Wyrm’s gaze.

_It meant ‘empress’ in one language or another, her handler had said those thousands of years past. A joke, but it was a name nonetheless._

**_[Kyrene.]_ ** She scratched at the dirt again. **_[My name is...Kyrene.]_**


	4. FFXIVWrite - Sway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> featuring [WhyDontWeBegin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhyDontWeBegin/pseuds/WhyDontWeBegin)'s WoL: Primrose Dusk
> 
> cross-posted from tumblr

...Hmm.

Kyrene licked her lips, trying to catch whatever that odd tang was in her drink. Kugane had many strange culinary delights yet unknown to the relic, and this was one such venture into new cuisine, but…

... _ Hm. _

Well, there was no point in worrying about it now. Whether it was a spice or a poison mattered little in the end. Kyrene had a stomach like steel and an immune system to match. Blessings of Allagan biotechnology and all that. 

Only one other person seated at the table was aware of her status: Primrose Dusk. The persistent Hellsguard had managed to wrangle said information from her through a mixture of stubbornness and her Echo. 

“Something wrong?” Primrose asked, looking-but-not-looking at her fellow Warrior with milked-over eyes. A blind healer and a broken Allagan relic. What a strange pair.

“...No.” Well...not yet. “This drink has a very unique taste. I am simply unaccustomed.”

She took the next drink as an opportunity to gauge the workers, and took an exaggerated gulp once she caught a server staring nervously at her. 

Ah. Poison then. That would explain the pleasant buzz and warmth she felt slowly encompassing her. Thankfully her partner had fallen into the habit of covertly cleansing her own food and drink with Esuna regardless of who made or served it.

“Oh? Would ye mind if I tried a sip?”

_ Yes. Very much so. _

Her response instead was to polish the drink off, and set the empty pint out of the other Roegadyn’s reach.

“You may not.”

A bemused “Uh?” left Prim’s mouth, tone matching the baffled look on her face. Kyrene was normally fine with sharing, but the curt response left her more than a little confused.

Kyrene, on the other hand, was noticing her vision starting to fuzz around the edges. See, extensive testing in the days of the Empire had proven that while alcohol did not affect her, especially strong and pervasive poisons  _ did _ . The most curious side effects of note was that poisonings led to slurred speech patterns, loss of balance, numbed reflexes, and lowered inhibitions. They made her appear  _ drunk. _

So it was that she waited for Primrose to finish her meal. Politely. With no strange and untoward noises that a Roegadyn would not typically make. 

But...she  _ was _ warm and comfortably swaying side-to-side a little further each time until the last morsel had passed the other Warrior’s lips.

The server from before was eyeing her warily, and she was eyeing them back. Squinting, really. Everything was starting to blur.

“Kyrene?”

“Hmmmm?” ...Oh, she was resting against the Hellsguard woman, and the drunken hum sounded more like a low  _ chrrr _ than an actual inquisitive noise.

“Ye alright?”

“ ‘m fff...fffiiine.” Flowers and citrus pervaded her senses and she belatedly realized that she had begun to nuzzle into Prim’s shoulder.

“Yer drunk, aren’t ye?”

“Mmmight as well be.” She murmured, slumping further against the other woman.  _ Warm _ and  _ soft. _ Prim was saying something, gently jostling and lifting her to her feet.

It was a blessed mercy that Prim did not let her fall to the wooden floor as she blacked out.


	5. FFXIVWrite - Muster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cross-posted from tumblr

“ _ Mustard _ .”

The general received only a blank look in response, green-white eyes shifting worriedly to the fine yellow dust that was ground mustard in the small container.

“Mmm— muh-sss…?” Caitrín nodded encouragingly, an eager smile on her face. The Iksalion had been recently configured at her request to have a humanoid form to shift into when patrolling through villages and cities. As such, the chimera had to go through the process of learning to speak with a people-mouth, as it were. “M-uh-ssss...turd.”

“So close!”

**_[Milady, why is this necessary?]_ **

“It is a very important skill to have when walking among citizens. The goal is for you to learn how to integrate seamlessly, and that includes learning how to talk as a person does.”

**_[But when would I need to visit the markets alone, much less need to search for mu—]_ **

“Use your mouth.” Caitrín’s grin never faltered.

“...When wwwould I need to look for must-urd?” The Roegadyn’s face emoted strangely. “Must. Urd. Mustard.” Her brow creased as she seemed to taste how the word sounded.

“We’re just practicing right now. I’m not actually going to send you out for mustard, ground or not.” The general’s grin slid into something a little more mischievous. “It’s more important that you are up to snuff to present yourself the next time our unit is mustered.”

“...” 

A peal of laughter sounded even as the Allagan experiment let out a low whine of dismay.

“ _ Why _ .”

“Because these things too must be learned.” The blonde offered a sweet in apology. “Besides, it is a useful thing to annoy Aoife with. She  _ hates _ when people play with words.”

The people-mouth sound lessons were suddenly much,  _ much _ more interesting.


	6. FFXIVWrite - Matter of Fact

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cross-posted from tumblr

“‘I am here to speak with the Antecedent,’ she said, plain as day!” Tataru gave as much of an approximation of a low, somewhat rough voice as she could. “And then,  _ and then _ , when I asked her what business she had, she very matter-of-factly said ‘Hydaelyn bade me come.’”

“You said she had a spear strapped across her back?” Yda asked. “I can’t imagine missing a big ole Sea Wolf like that in the Shroud. Scarred to the seven hells and back?”

“You didn’t miss anyone by that description because we didn’t  _ see _ anyone by that description. I doubt someone so traveled in battle would hardly be considered a  _ beginner _ in the art.” Papalymo added. “And judging by the look on  _ your _ face, Y’shtola, I would dare conclude you’ve not seen such a person either.”

“Limsa Lominsa is, as you well know, home to a great many Sea Wolves, so it would be correct to say I’ve only seen  _ half _ of the description we’ve been given. Scarred, battle-worn Roegadyns are not uncommon in the least there.  _ Lancers _ , however...I do not recall.”

“I suppose there’s some reason we’re all gossiping in the parlor rather than making our reports in the Solar?”

Thancred arrived out of breath, as if he had ran a distance greater than his vastly-touted lung capacity could manage.

“An adventurer came in and requested to speak directly with the Antecedent but nobody here has recruited them!”

“Let me—” a grunt as he sat down to catch his breath, “let me guess: A tower of a woman, armor clad and with lance in hand, hm?”

“So you’ve seen her?”

“On the contrary. I was out investigating a rumor that the Amalj’aa in Eastern Thanalan had summoned their primal. Next thing I know, Minfilia’s asking me to return, saying that Ifrit had been slain, and the proof standing before her.”

“Now that you mention it, she  _ did _ arrive carrying a large sack…”

A creaking sound interrupted their murmurings, and they looked towards the Solar. Standing in the doorway was the rumored adventurer herself: A large, heavily scarred Roegadyn stared at the group, green-white eyes looking between those gathered evenly. An unkempt mane of midnight blue hair, tinged throughout with the same green-white color of her eyes framed her face. 

The muscles in her jaw visibly worked as her gaze finally settled on Urianger, freshly arrived, and Tataru who had ducked partially behind him. The adventurer’s eyes flicked down and to the side, her expression set impressively neutral despite her intimidating bearing.

“Please, come in.” Minfilia called from behind, and the stranger turned aside, holding the door open for the others to pass through. A wave of sweltering heat rolled from within the Solar once the door frame was no longer blocked, and the source became apparent once the Scions had filed in—the large sack Tataru had mentioned earlier rested in a corner, the water-infused burlap smoldering gently from the fire-blazed horns of the primal Ifrit that it held. A trophy, and proof of this stranger’s capability.

As the door shut behind them, Minfilia smiled warmly.

“I bid you all welcome the newest member of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn: Kyrene Lightfoot.”


	7. FFXIVWrite - Nonagenarian

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cross-posted from tumblr

Kyrene was nervous. Normally she paced, or shifted her weight from side-to-side when she was nervous, but here...she could not

For this was Matoya’s cave.

Now, it wasn’t the cave itself that caused her anxiety; it was more than spacious enough to avoid triggering her fear of enclosed spaces. It was  _ Matoya. _

The relic had hoped beyond hope that the elder Archon wouldn’t have recognized her, but the glint in the witch’s eyes had confirmed her worst fear: She remembered. Thankfully, the master was as discreet as she was formidable, turning only to speak with Y’shtola about aetheric means to ram the shields of Azys Lla.

“I thought you took more of your time between visits to Sharlayan, Lightfoot.”

“Ah?” How clumsy—she’d been so distracted trying to avoid the conversation that she’d missed the others being set to their tasks, leaving her and Matoya alone. “Certainly, I...hadn’t intended to visit again so soon. I have nothing to offer for your knowledge this time, Master Matoya.”

“Please,” the elder Hyur snorted, “you need not speak with such deference to someone not even a fraction your age.”

“Be that as it may, the others are not aware of...my true nature.”

“And how long do you expect that to last?”

“Not...much longer. Not now that Y’shtola has aethersight.” Kyrene took a seat at the Archon’s table. “They must already have their suspicions.”

“And now they seek entry to the fabled Azys Lla which, judging by your expression, is explicitly Allagan in nature.”

“It is.”

“And to disable the shield yourself would be to reveal an aspect of yourself that you are not wont to at this point.”

“Correct.” 

There’s a moment of silence between the two as a poroggo familiar placed teacups and saucers on the table with a warbling croak.

“I don’t think she’s recognized you from the last time you visited. Shtola.”

“She was freshly under your care then, was she not? Still a miqitten?” The relic removed her half-mask to sip at the offered tea, the taste of berries and herbs mixing pleasantly as she drank.

“As young as I had been the first time you visited  _ my _ teacher in Sharlayan, aye.” Matoya chuckled. “A score and some odd years haven’t taken the recklessness out of her yet.”

“So it seems.” Kyrene replied mildly, taking another sip.

Another moment of pensive silence as the relic watched the dregs swirl through the red liquid. “..I could bring her research back, find someone skilled enough to fix me after all these years. But…”   
  
“Anything brought back would be far too dangerous were it to fall in the wrong hands, no?”

“Mm.” The teacup gently clinked down onto the table. “I’ve waited this long, I can wait until the Garlean Empire eventually fizzles out.”

“Time really has no meaning for you anymore, does it?”

“I dare not make assumptions, but the same will probably happen to you once you’ve hit a certain age. Say...Ninety or so?”

“I  _ do _ remember your weakness, Lightfoot.”

“Of that I have no doubt, Master Matoya.”


End file.
